


Just a Man (Not a Hero)

by AithuzahFic (veritably_mad)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 13:56:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2510234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veritably_mad/pseuds/AithuzahFic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur refuses to give Merlin a proper day off, so the knights take matters into their own hands. Lancelot takes it a bit further than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Man (Not a Hero)

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate titles: "Merlin Gets a Day Off," "Therapeutic Cuddle Sessions with Lancelot," "Things Merlin Needed to Hear"
> 
> Actual title comes from My Chemical Romance's song "[The Black Parade](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pInrJ72eeUU)."
> 
> Dedicated to [neckerchiefsandmagic](http://neckerchiefsandmagic.tumblr.com/), whose need for Merlin/Lancelot inspired me to actually finish writing this.
> 
>  **UPDATE:** The wonderful [mushr_0v0_m](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mushr_0v0_m) has **translated this fic into Chinese** and posted it on a [Chinese Merlin Fansite](http://tieba.baidu.com/p/3976140000?share=9105&fr=share)! Thank you so much, I'm honored <3

It wasn’t Merlin’s idea.

It isn’t one he opposes, but it wasn’t his idea, no matter what Arthur might think or imply by raising his eyebrows as Lancelot insists that yes, Merlin needs a knight to escort him to that very dangerous part of the kingdom so he can harvest an important rare herb that Gaius desperately needs for some potion or another.

It was Gwaine’s idea, the first time. Quite a few things are Gwaine’s idea, and while most of them involve alcohol, this one doesn’t, much to Merlin’s (and Gaius’s) relief.

Instead, it involves a lie, a knight, and a day.

*

The lie is about the herbs.

Most of the plants that Gaius needs can be found in safe territory well within Camelot’s borders, and even when they aren’t, Merlin hardly has trouble with _bandits_. They’re boring at this point, almost insulting. Really, the herbs are only an excuse to get out of the castle without making Arthur ask too many questions or lament Merlin’s lack of work ethic in the way he does when he doesn’t want to admit that he misses Merlin’s presence.

*

The knight changes, as if they had agreed to a rotation. _Merlin’s eyeing those battleaxes an awful lot, lately. Whose turn is it to take him out of the castle for a day off before he poisons someone?_

The first time, Gwaine slung his arm around Merlin’s tensed-angry shoulders in front of a sneering noble and said, as though Merlin had any idea what he was talking about, _Are we still getting those flowers Gaius needs for his shit-tasting miracle hangover cures tomorrow?_ and Merlin went along with it – _they aren’t flowers, Gwaine, we need the roots –_ because it’s Gwaine and that’s what you do.

The next day, he’d chatted Merlin into forgetting what he was angry about, who he was, and what he’d done over the years. Gwaine took him to a river where “the horses can drink the water and we can drink the wine,” then hefted Merlin over his shoulder and dropped him, flailing, into the deep. By the time they’d returned to the castle, Merlin’s clothes had been _mostly_ dry, and he wore a grin that Arthur couldn’t wipe off even when he said it made him look daft. (And the relief that edged Arthur’s voice only made it stay longer.)

Percival is a warm presence, open and kind, and a good listener. When he speaks, it’s with thoughtful, measured words and sound advice. He tells Merlin about his old life: his sister, their parents, their village. Merlin keeps the shared memories like eggshells in his palm. He knows all too well what a lost past means.

Leon had surprised him, frankly. Merlin hadn’t thought they were that close, had thought that he would take the journey as a Serious Herb-Retrieval Mission and would spend the time in awkward, formal quiet, with actual plants in hand at the end. He takes it seriously, of course, because what would Leon _be_ if he isn’t earnest and sincere? – but he understands. Still, Leon found himself at a loss being alone with Merlin until they found common ground with Gwen. Merlin treasures the fresh anecdotes of their childhood in Camelot, the frog-catching misadventures of a noble boy and a servant girl.

Elyan shares stories of his travels during his time away from Camelot, when he explored kingdoms Merlin had never seen. Places where magic is sold on the streets like baubles, where he had learned swordplay from drunkards and soldiers alike, where he had lived day-to-day and moment-to-moment. It makes Merlin wonder, briefly, if he should have traveled longer before he set down roots and loyalties.

 

 _Lancelot_.

The other knights treat him like family. They protect him, and as ironic as that seems, it feels good to be _cared for._ Spending time with them feels like a brotherhood, a teasing give-and-take of comfort and play.

There’s no cautious balance like the one he walks with Arthur, no tensions waiting to snap or threat of dismissal and rejection. As much as he enjoys their volley of insults, the thrill of adventure that never seems to seep from their relationship even after all these years, and – most precious of all – the moments when Arthur reaches out his own stilted, but genuine, form of concern and caring, he knows Arthur doesn’t _see_ him. _Can’t_ see him through the haze of his own assumptions and Merlin’s careful performance.

He can let it slip with the knights, reveal more of his true self to them than he can ever show to Arthur. They know the trials of commoner life, the harsher truths of Uther’s reign, the things that set royalty apart from the ruled.

With Lancelot, the performance falls away.

*

The day is never long enough.

***

Too many spilled goblets, dropped training swords, late arrivals. Too many days of routine and tedium. Too many snobby nobles, too many jabbing insults, too many, too many, _too much._

Lancelot takes one look at Merlin’s clenched jaw and tells Arthur where they will go, how long they will be. After Arthur’s tight-lipped nod of acquiescence, Merlin feels the stone that had dropped down into his gut to grow there like a tumor _crack_ down the middle. Jagged fragments fall away to dust as they ride past the city gates, jostled out of him by swelling relief and the rough bounce of a horse’s stride.

“What do you want to do?” Lancelot asks him, as he does every time.

“Something big,” Merlin says. “Something violent, and then…something fun.”

Lancelot nods like he knows what he means, because he does. (He’s the only one who does.)

He picks their destination based on what Merlin says. This time, he leads them towards the mountains, far away from unwanted eyes.

*

 _What do you want to do?_ Lancelot asked as soon as they had left the city behind them.

_What do you mean?_

_We’re not really going to get herbs for Gaius, are we?_

Merlin shrugged. _If we see some he might find useful._

Maybe he should have felt guiltier about abandoning both Gaius and Arthur for the day, but Gaius had only shaken his head and shooed him off and what Arthur didn’t know –

Well, this would be the least of what Arthur didn’t know about Merlin.

 _Right,_ Lancelot continued. _So think of this as a day off. We can go anywhere, do anything_ – he met Merlin’s gaze evenly.  _–and I do mean_ anything _, Merlin._

Magic. The memory of the Witchfinder sent a shiver across Merlin’s skin, but the promise of freedom warmed his fingers, like his magic had sensed the anticipation and stirred, eager to be set loose.

One horse shaped out of a distant fire’s smoke. That’s all it had been.

 _It’s too dangerous,_ he said, reluctant.

_We just need to find somewhere safe and out of the way._

Gaius’s constant reprimands for careless magic use sprung to mind – It’s not a toy, Merlin. What if someone had seen you? Only use it if you absolutely must. Be careful.

At Merlin’s wary expression, Lancelot added, _You should use it for more than saving the kingdom. It’s yours, not Camelot’s. Use it for yourself once in a while._

The day seemed suddenly dazzling with new potential.

*

Flames, first.

He spins the air into a frenzy and threads it with fire. Stones shudder across the mountainside as dirt rips from the ground and hisses black and stinking in the heat. Merlin’s own eyes, his skin, his blood burn with the surges of magic that he thrusts deep into the earth to tear at its roots, dragging boulders from their snug slumbers and into the light.

Lancelot stands far behind him and watches with eyes dark and unafraid.

At the end of it, when his hands and knees and heart tremble, when he can only stare at the ravaged mountainside and pant and shake at the devastation his own power caused, Lancelot wraps his arms around him from behind.

“Now put it back,” he says. And even though the raw flood of energy had drained, Merlin does. With Lancelot solid and safe at his back, he smoothes the soil and over the stones and seals them back into the ground.

Still, the area is scorched and blackened beyond his power to reverse. He could scour the marks from sight or cover them up, but he cannot repair them, can’t undo all the damage he had done.

Lancelot leads him away with a firm arm supporting him at his waist, and Merlin relaxes into his control.

*

 _How are you not afraid of me?_ Merlin asked the first time Lancelot saw the extent of his power, when Merlin delighted in the freedom of magic unshackled and careless.

_Because I know you, Merlin. You’re a good man – a better man than I am, by all counts. I trust you._

Merlin laughed at that, touched and warmed but knowing better. _You’re the better man, Lancelot, believe me._

That was the day he told Lancelot everything.

*

Lancelot spreads a wide cloth over the grass and sets the horses to graze while Merlin dozes there, basking in the golden light as though he hadn’t felt the touch of sun in weeks. The birds that fled the area during his display return with cautious chirps that gain confidence until they string back into songs.

The blanket tautens under Merlin as Lancelot lies down at his side.

“Better?” he asks.

“Better.” A sleepy smile spreads across Merlin’s face. “Now for the fun.”

*

Grief, frustration, rage, regret – the volatile brew that threatened to make Merlin explode and take Camelot down with him, that he carried in his chest and tried not to jostle too often in one day.

At his recount of Balinor’s death, Merlin’s voice started to shake. He didn’t realize that tears had started falling until he spoke about Gwen’s near-execution. The depth of Morgana’s hatred for them all struck him again like the serket’s sting, spreading toxic and vicious through his veins.

_It’s my fault, it’s my fault, they’re dead and she’s gone and it’s my fault—_

Before, he hadn’t let himself cry for Morgana the way he had for the other people he’d lost – not that he had cried much for them, either. There had been no public mourning, only hastily wiped-away tears and brittle smiles, and Gaius’s sad, knowing eyes. 

He cried for all of them that day in wracking sobs that ached in his lungs and limbs, his arms wrapped around his knees as if he could hold himself whole. Lancelot leaned against the log beside him and rubbed his back in soothing circles, waiting.

 _Merlin, listen to me._ Lancelot tugged his chin up until their eyes met, still willing to get close, still quick to touch. _Morgana made her own decisions. You can’t control what she does, or what anyone does. You are not to blame for what they chose for themselves._

He’d made the wrong choices. He always made the wrong choice.

_I could have – I should have known, I should have stopped—_

He should have listened to the dragon. He should never have trusted the dragon. He should have killed Morgana. He should have helped Morgana. He should have taken the blows for Will, for Balinor, for Freya, for all those people dead because of him—

Should, should, should, didn’t. How could he have gotten it all so wrong?

_You did what you thought was right. That’s the bravest thing that any of us can do._

Lancelot always saw the best in people.

_I don’t feel brave._

*

Their fingers tangle, catch in the long press of warmth where their sides aligned. Merlin’s head rolls to rest against Lancelot’s shoulder and his free hand drifts lazily through the air, dragging a trail of shimmering blue light in its wake.

Mostly, on these too-rare day-trips, they talk. About their lives before Camelot, the last feast or the next tournament, the spells Merlin learned, or Gwen and other missed chances.

Today, Merlin pulls colors into the air, shaping stories out of smoke and mud and leaves. A dragon made of dirt and bark shoots a gust of dust at a mud-bandit, who shrivels and flees. Veined green and gold leaves spin into a delicate dress to adorn a grass-haired lady dancing with a stone knight. The scene changes, and they both take up twig swords against the vengeful mud-bandit and his troupe of thieves.

An epic, tiny battle plays out above their heads to the tune of birdsong.

*

_Well? You know the truth now, all of it. I’m not just a sorcerer and a liar, I’m – I’m a murderer, a monster._

_Not that, Merlin. Never that._

*

For lunch, they share bread, cheese, and berries Merlin finds deeper within the forest. He plucks them from the bush all at once with a gentle tug of magic, drops them onto an open cloth, and brings them back to the spread blanket.

“Are you sure they aren’t poisonous?” Lancelot asks, but he laughs when Merlin elbows him.

“No, all these years of medical training and travel have taught me nothing,” he retorts. “Here, why don’t you try them first?”

Lancelot pops a handful into his mouth. “Hmm, not bad. I expect I’ll drop dead any second.”

He doesn’t, of course, and they sit shoulder to shoulder trading food and jokes as the sun slips across the sky.

*

Lancelot pulled Merlin out of his tight, defensive curl and into a tighter hug. He wilted into Lancelot’s arms, heartache and fear and all the things he never let other people see sending tremors through his body.

_You’re not a monster, Merlin. You’re a man caught between too many impossible decisions. That isn’t your fault._

_This isn’t your fault._

Soul-deep exhaustion weighted Merlin’s eyelids. He drifted into the sleep of the weary, soothed by the soft murmur of reassurances and the fingers smoothing through his hair. The shaking stopped at last.

Lancelot let him rest.

*

“What next?” Lancelot asks, and nudges Merlin’s shoulder.

Merlin stares at the shadows falling long on the grass. Soon they will need to pack their things and start the journey back to Camelot.

“You choose,” he says. “What do you want to see?”

Lancelot considers it, tipping his head until it bumps the side of Merlin’s. “What can you do that I haven’t seen?”

Merlin thinks back through the years of spells. The restless frustration that had built over the weeks is gone, blasted into the mountainside and blown away by the wind. Now he wants something made from finesse, from the urge to _create_.

“I tried to make strawberries for Freya,” he says, and the name hardly even hurts anymore. “I…messed up, ended up with a rose instead.”

Lancelot chuckles. “I doubt she minded. Your magic is as charming as you are, it seems.”

Merlin snorts and digs an elbow into his side. “Well, what should I make? Let me see if I can do better for you.”

“Am I going to get what I ask for?”

“We’ll see, won’t we?”

*

By the time Merlin blinked back into consciousness, the fabric of Lancelot’s tunic rough against his cheek and his heartbeat steady in his ear, the ache had dulled to a low thrum. His eyes felt puffy and gritty, his throat was raw from talking, and his legs had fallen asleep where they were folded under him and started to twinge, but he didn’t want to move from his position curled into Lancelot’s side.

 _I tried to beat destiny,_ he said, so quietly the words were almost a whisper. _I thought I could save them, but I only made things worse. I was a fool to try._

Lancelot shrugged, making Merlin’s head shift a bit from where it rested on his chest. _But a person who would rather murder his friend on the word of a dragon than fight for their future is not a friend I would like to have, if only for my own self-preservation._

A smile ghosted over Merlin’s lips, then faded. _I tried to do it, once. Kill her._ His fingers tightened to a fist, gripping Lancelot’s sleeve. _Morgana, when she – fell. She was going to die, and I thought, if I just let her go, then it’ll all be over. I knew she’d changed. I knew no one would think to blame me, were she to die. So I tried to stay silent, do nothing. But I couldn’t._

Merlin pulled away from the open comfort of Lancelot’s embrace and sat upright, still close, but distanced. His legs blazed with needle-prick discomfort as the blood flowed through them again. He ignored it. _No, that’s wrong. I – I could have, but I didn’t._

_Why didn’t you?_

_Arthur and Gwen._ He sighed. Arthur’s fury at his own helplessness, Gwen’s tears, hell, even Uther’s mourning had broken his resolution to take advantage of the accident. _They didn’t know that_ their _Morgana died the moment I poisoned her. I should’ve known it, and Kilgharrah warned me as he always does, but I hoped…I wanted her back so_ badly _, and..._

…and he still missed her, but they had both hurt each other too much and gone too far to go back to the way things had once been. Not for the first time, Merlin wondered if Morgana had survived his poison with all but her heart intact.

*

Merlin claps his hands together and starts rubbing, warming his palms. It doesn’t have any effect on his magic, but it’s a bit like the flair he’d added for Freya and his lips curl into a soft smile at the memory.

“One bouquet of flowers, coming right up.” He calls them into his mind – the firm stalks and velvety cool petals, yellow primrose blooms and the purple bells of foxgloves, sweet fragrances mingling in a heady cloud to mask the sharp scent of fresh-cut stems.

 _Blóstmá_. He doesn’t bother to incant it aloud. The word pulls at his magic to give shape to the imagined images until feathery sprigs tickle his fingers. He gathers the lot into one fist, cups his other hand against the petals, and calls on his magic one last time for the day.

 When he hands the bundle over to Lancelot, a shimmer-winged blue butterfly is clinging to a poppy.

“There you are. What you asked for and more.”

Lancelot takes the flowers carefully, but the butterfly’s grip on the petals falters anyway. It beats its wings to steady itself and flutter-crawls to a more stable position, but it doesn’t fly away.

His expression is openly awed in a way that reminds Merlin of the Druids, but means so much more to him than their blind worship of whatever prophesized savior they’ve built him up to be.

Their eyes shine with expectations when they look at him and Merlin thinks their view must be clouded with it. He’s terrified, still, that destiny chose the wrong person to give so much responsibility. It should have picked someone who could have learned the craft as a child, become experienced, more certain and steady in their path – a _Druid_ child. Anybody other than Merlin, a boy from a magic-fearing border village barely large enough to appear on a map.

The Druids’ attention makes him feel smaller than himself. Lancelot’s makes him feel human.

*

Merlin bit his lip and pushed away the lingering guilt. These weren’t Lancelot’s problems. He’d kept them locked away for a reason. How had they spilled out of him so easily?

 _I’m sorry,_ he said, trying for a lighter tone. _This hasn’t been much of a fun day off, has it? I bet you even miss hitting things with sticks for hours on end._

Lancelot let him change the subject, but the steady glint in his eye told Merlin that it wouldn’t last long. _I wouldn’t have become a knight if I didn’t enjoy hitting things with sticks, Merlin._

_Really? I thought it was all about the noble pursuit of honor and defending the innocent._

_Good. That’s what I want people to think. Glad to hear my plan is working._

_You know, I think Gwaine is rubbing off on you._

_Oh,_ is _he?_

A laugh jumped unbidden from Merlin’s throat at the absurd sight of Lancelot’s suggestively waggling eyebrow. _Alright, now I_ know _it. I’ll have to keep you two far apart from now on, if I want to keep my sanity._

_But then who would distract the cook while you run off with the sweets?_

_Leon. Obviously._

*

“I’ve never seen a butterfly like this in Camelot before,” Lancelot comments, turning the bouquet in his hands to look at it from different sides. Merlin grins and imagines him stopping on the road to watch clouds of butterflies skim over meadows.

“Erm, sorry. I know a lot more about plants than I do insects,” he says, then tilts his head to the side as he reconsiders. “Well, other than maggots or leeches, but I didn’t think you’d want one of those. The flowers should be accurate enough. They don’t have the same medicinal properties, though. We’d probably want to find some _real_ primroses if, say, we came across someone with gout – ”

“Merlin,” Lancelot interrupts. “Are you saying you _made_ these?”

“…I thought that was obvious?”

“And _I_ thought you’d transported them from somewhere else.”

Merlin snorted. “Now _that’s_ a spell I’d like to know. Imagine how much easier my life would be if I could magic things into my hands. Oh, we need the Cup of Life? Sure, no trouble at all! Morgana’s about to stab the king? No, she isn’t! How can she do that now that _I_ have her dagger? _Much_ stealthier than trying to fly something across a room, I’d say. Or tip-toe. Have I told you about the boots?”

Lancelot doesn’t answer, just stares at him with a bemused smile. Merlin lets the silence sit for a moment before he asks, “What? What did I say?”

The smile widens and Lancelot shakes his head, chuckling. “I don’t know why I’m surprised that someone who can command a dragon would think like this. Only you, Merlin, could create something out of nothing and complain that it isn’t some other spell.”

“It’s not out of nothing!” Merlin protests. “It’s my magic. Just, you know, solid.” At Lancelot’s pointed look, he adds defensively, “It really isn’t a useful spell. You can’t eat anything I make like this, and it takes too much concentration to use it in a fight.”

At that moment, the butterfly drops from the bouquet and meanders around their blanket in random spins and curls.

“Are you making it do that?” Lancelot asks, and Merlin shakes his head. They keep their eyes on the butterfly as it lands on the spread cloth, on the mostly-eaten pile of berries, then tumbles away and upwards.

“Solid,” Lancelot repeats. “And _alive_.”

*

_It’s getting late. We should head back._

Merlin heaved himself up on unsteady legs that still prickled uncomfortably. Stretching as he walked, he sent their bags sailing to the horses, where they strapped themselves secure. The horses didn’t even fidget, and Merlin wished that more humans shared their blasé attitude toward magic.

When he turned, Lancelot had already stood, but hadn’t moved from beside the log. _What is it?_ he asked, wary.

_There’s something I want to say before we go back._

Merlin’s stomach dropped. He’d hoped to return to Camelot before Lancelot could bring up the things he’d been told again.

 _You saved me,_ Lancelot began. He spoke slowly, as though he’d been thinking about this for some time and wanted to get the words out properly. _Again and again, you saved me. When I lost hope, when I lost sight of my dreams, when I wanted to give up, you came along and proved that there is always another way. Even if it isn’t the most conventional…or the most legal._

Lancelot raised an eyebrow at him, but Merlin couldn’t move, felt frozen in place, and Lancelot continued. _I’ve spoken to Gwaine about his life before Camelot. He was reckless, aimless, lost. He finally feels like he has a purpose and a home. Friends he can trust. Friends who trust him in turn._

The softness and faint traces of longing in Lancelot’s eyes told Merlin what was coming next before he said a word. _I met Arthur and Gwen years ago, and I know they’re different now, too. Gwen is braver, more confident in herself and quick to speak. And Arthur? He’s always been a good man, but it’s finally there for all to see._

 _You changed us all by believing in us, and we’re better for it._ Lancelot held Merlin’s gaze with a steady, earnest calm. _None of that had anything to do with the powers you have. It has everything to do with who you are._

He walked forward carefully, as though he were afraid Merlin would turn tail and flee. _You’ve made mistakes. I can’t say that all of your choices were right, or that another decision would have made things better or worse. All I know is that sometimes you made the wrong choice for the right reason, and that you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. It’s an honor to know you, Merlin, and to have your trust._

Merlin was shaking and his cheeks felt wet again, and he thought he might melt or fly apart but the reasons were so, so much different than before.

Lancelot stepped into his space and wrapped him in a hug that felt like the end of the world and the beginning all at once, promises and _thank you_ and _I love you_ and everything, everything Merlin had never thought he would hear.

*

Before they mount the horses, before they return to their duties and barked orders and secrets, Merlin hooks his fingers into Lancelot’s and pulls him close. Presses one soft kiss to his mouth and smiles through it, feels Lancelot’s lips curve against his. Lingers there for a moment to savor the sweet ease of it before he draws away.

Thank you, he doesn’t say, but Lancelot understands. (He’s the only one who does.)

**Author's Note:**

> This whole thing comes from a _very_ self-indulgent desire to see Merlin coddled and reassured that he is not the only person to blame for everything that happens. 
> 
> Also: I like to imagine Merlin/Lancelot as an ace couple. This was kind of written with that in mind, and (even though it wasn't intentional at first) in honor of Asexual Awareness Week! This works out well for Day 1's prompt, "A male character you see as asexual."
> 
>  
> 
> Kudos, comments, and constructive critiques are always welcome and much appreciated.
> 
> (I'm greedy for feedback, I admit it.)
> 
> { [come say hi!](http://aithuzah.tumblr.com) }


End file.
